“Very good,” I said. “I’m with you for going on. But let’s face facts. We must scotch Dollmann. We can’t do so without hurting her.”
“Can’t we possibly?”
“Of course not; be sensible, man. Face that. Next point; it’s absurd to hope that we need not revisit them—it’s ten to one that we must, if we’re to succeed. His attempt on you is the whole foundation of our suspicions. And we don’t even know for certain who he is yet. We’re committed, I know, to going straight to Norderney now; but even if we weren’t, should we do any good by exploring and prying? It’s very doubtful. We know we’re watched, if not suspected, and that disposes of nine-tenths of our power. The channels? Yes, but is it likely they’ll let us learn them by heart, if they’re of such vital importance, even if we are thought to be bona fide yachtsmen? And, seriously, apart from their value in war, which I don’t deny, are they at the root of this business? But we’ll talk about that in a moment. The point now is, what shall we do if we meet the Dollmanns?”
Beads of sweat stood on Davies’s brow. I felt like a torturer, but it could not be helped. “Tax him with having wrecked you? Our quest would be at an end! We must be friendly. You must tell the story you told to-day, and chance his believing it. If he does, so much the better; if he doesn’t, he won’t dare say so, and we still have chances. We gain time, and have a tremendous hold on him—if we’re friendly.” Davies winced. I gave another turn to the screw. “Friendly with them both, of course. You were before, you know; you liked her very much—you must seem to still.”
“Oh, stop your infernal logic.”
“Shall we chuck it and go to England?” I asked again, as an inquisitor might say, “Have you had enough?” No answer. I went on: “To make it easier, you do like her still.” I had roused my victim at last.
“What the devil do you mean, Carruthers? That I’m to trade on my liking for her—on her innocence, to—good God! what do you mean?”
“No, no, not that. I’m not such a cad, or such a fool, or so ignorant of you. If she knows nothing of her father’s character and likes you—and you like her—and you are what you are—oh Heavens! man, face it, realise it! But what I mean is this: is she, can she be, what you think? Imagine his position if we’re right about him; the vilest creature on God’s earth—a disgraceful past to have been driven to this—in the pay of Germany. I want to spare you misery.” I was going to add: “And if you’re on your guard, to increase our chances.” But the utter futility of such suggestions silenced me. What a plan I had foreshadowed! An enticing plan and a fair one, too, as against such adversaries; turning this baffling cross-current to advantage as many a time we had worked eddies of an adverse tide in these difficult seas. But Davies was Davies, and there was an end of it; his faith and simplicity shamed me. And the pity of it, the cruelty of it, was that his very qualities were his last torture, raising to the acutest pitch the conflict between love and patriotism. Remember that the latter was his dominant life-motive, and that here and now was his chance—if you would gauge the bitterness of that conflict.
It was in its last throes now. His elbows were on the table, and his twitching hands pressed on his forehead. He took them away.
“Of course we must go on. It can’t be helped, that’s all.”